


talk dirty to me

by mangemouth



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangemouth/pseuds/mangemouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Modern AU GinZura, PWP like whoah, literally just ten pages of bickering and banging. Inspired, as most hideous things are, by <a href="http://antimonial.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://antimonial.livejournal.com/"><b>antimonial</b></a>, and written in part to Reel Big Fish's happy-go-plucky cover of <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?bnyywzimmm2">Talk Dirty to Me</a>. For <a href="http://ginzura.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://ginzura.livejournal.com/"></a><b>ginzura</b>, a group of people who are Into That Kind of Thing, I Guess.</p>
    </blockquote>





	talk dirty to me

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU GinZura, PWP like whoah, literally just ten pages of bickering and banging. Inspired, as most hideous things are, by [](http://antimonial.livejournal.com/profile)[**antimonial**](http://antimonial.livejournal.com/), and written in part to Reel Big Fish's happy-go-plucky cover of [Talk Dirty to Me](http://www.mediafire.com/?bnyywzimmm2). For [](http://ginzura.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ginzura.livejournal.com/)**ginzura** , a group of people who are Into That Kind of Thing, I Guess.

“Well, that was unproductive,” pants Zura at length, his hand pressing against his sternum, over his heart.

“What kind of sweet nothing is that, ah, you bastard?” Gintoki snaps, but it’s too breathless to have any real bite. He’s bowed over with hands flat on the kitchen counter, on either side of where Zura’s perched, his legs splayed. Staring down at those still spread legs and the sheen of stickiness on Zura’s stomach, he gives a defeated kind of groan (he can’t catch a break, every damn _angle_ of this jackass is right out of a dirty fantasy).

He receives a snort in return. Thank god for misinterpretations. “You hit my head on the cabinet,” the other man asserts, complaint in his tone. “That’s not very sweet, either.”

Gintoki gives him a flat, dead-fish eyes look. He decides to let it go (because if Zura sounded as stupidly, _stupidly_ sexy as he looked, he’d never get anything done). “We’ll buy you a helmet. Always thought you needed one anyway,” he says instead, which is (per usual) the wrong thing to say, as Zura gives him a hard shove in the shoulder, trying to disengage.

Not happening, Gintoki thinks dimly, both hands grabbing the smaller man’s buttocks.

“What the _hell_ – ” yelps Zura, but he’s ignored as Gintoki yanks him off the counter, holding him up against himself (he’s already half–drunk on skin contact and he intends to get _wasted_ ). Predictably, Zura refuses to make anything easy, and the taller man nearly drops the idiot twice with his squirming. “ _Put me down, asshole!_ ”

“Aa, aa, stop that screeching, your neighbours are going to hear,” Gintoki chides, walking them into the bathroom. A quickie in the kitchen followed by a languorous shower-fuck sounds more than acceptable. “On second thought, they probably already heard you, going – ”

“Shut _up_ – ”

“No, you were saying, _Don’t stop, oh, oh, Gintoki, Gintoki, you’re so big_ – ”

“ _I **never** said_ – ”

“ _– ohhh, give it to me hard, yeah, just like that, big boy_ – ”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep,” bites the long-haired man lowly. He’s stopped struggling, hanging heavy in Gintoki’s arms with a rather murderous expression. Death threats or not, Zura remains naked, so taller man can’t seem to prioritize correctly.

When Gintoki deposits him back on his feet, Zura gives an affronted huff. “I hate it when you – ”

“Thoughtfully offer to help wash that stinky wig?”

“ _Asshole!_ Don’t patronize me!”

“Who’s being patronizing?” he hums patronizingly, pushing Zura into the shower and stepping in after him. He watches the realization of what’s about to happen travel along the goose bumps rising on Zura’s arms, climb up the tightening tendons of a kiss-bitten neck, _squeeze_ under thirty pounds of hair, flash briefly across big deer-brown eyes, and then settle in the peanut Zura calls his brain.

“No, get out, get _out,_ I told you I have _class_ this afternoon and you already wasted most of my review time!”

“Wasted? That’s harsh. Don’t blame me because you’re poor at time management. You should’a reviewed last night.”

“ _I tried, but **you**_ – ”

Gintoki cuts off the agitated hiss with a hard, invasive kiss, feeling Zura’s body going rigid with fury. It’s a dangerous game to play, he knows, but he just can’t seem to help himself. The smaller man’s kiss has much more teeth in it than strictly called for ( _ow,_ shit, that was his lip), but it’s not a knee in the balls, so he considers this round a success. Before Zura can change his mind about any knee-related activities, he reaches behind the other’s waist, turning on the shower.

Subsequently blasting them with freezing water.

“Cold, cold, _cold,_ ” gasps the other man, trying vainly to scramble away from the spray.

This is not according to plan. Gintoki growls, blinking what feels like glacier water out of his eyes. “ _Fuck,_ for all the money you fork out for rent here, you’d think the water tank would be bigger than a damn thimble – ”

“You _know_ it needs a m-minute to w-warm up,” Zura chatters, and Gintoki frowns down at the half-damp head of hair. He then promptly wraps his arms around the other’s shoulders, switching their positions and putting himself in the way of the water’s flow.

He feels Zura tuck his head into his shoulder (and the small quirk of lips against his collarbone makes his hold tighten).

“Oi, this is taking much longer than a minute, you liar,” he mutters into dark strands to distract himself from the chill against his back (and the stupid way the pit of his stomach feels). “Has university warped your innocence already, Zura?”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” is the dry response, “and no, that was you.”

It’s meant to be a jab, probably, but _corrupting Zura_ is the kind of thought that keeps him grinding into his hand at night, biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t wake the old bag. He doesn’t respond immediately, waiting until he feels the water slowly warming against his back.

As it does, he ducks his own head, finding the shell of an ear to kiss and nip at. “I see,” he finally murmurs, feeling the little shiver that goes up Zura’s spine, and enjoying it. “So, how?”

The smaller man turns his face back up, confused. Wet strands of hair along his jaw direct Gintoki’s line of sight downdowndown, along that damn perfect _neck_. It just begs for attention, so he presses biting kisses to it, while Zura asks, “What?”

“How,” repeats Gintoki, sliding his hands from Zura’s shoulders to his lower back, “did I warp your innocence, aa? What did I do?” One hand skates lower still and gropes hard at Zura’s bottom, eliciting a startled curse (and a _wonderful_ jerk of the other’s hips into his). “Mm. Was it something like that?”

“Don’t be such a pervert,” mutters the smaller man, sounding flustered. Gintoki nods, taking this into consideration.

“You’re right, I am. So it had to be something more perverted.” Before Zura can complain, he pushes him back against the tile of the wall, half into the heated water’s flow. Grabbing onto the other’s hipbones like the handlebars of his scooter, he grinds himself against Zura (and _god damn_ , he’s still slick with his last orgasm, the one _Gintoki_ gave him – and that’s enough to make the taller man rock his hips even harder). The shorter man makes a small, choked kind of noise at the contact, not quite surrendering to the rhythm. Gintoki just grins, slow and lazy, and watches the colour rise to Zura’s cheeks, the black hair growing wet and glossy, harshly painting itself down pale skin.

“This probably wasn’t it either,” the taller man hums, tapering off the long, slow-burn rolls of his hips into teasing, shallow rubbing (just enough to keep them both aroused without actually getting anything done). “Any teenager worth his acne-wash can do this.”

“Shut up, you stupid bastard,” Zura tells him (like this time it will make any difference). His fingers knot in Gintoki’s hair, giving a no-nonsense tug. “Stop messing around, I’m going to be late.”

“Ch, class can wait, Zura, we have to get to the bottom of this.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s – ” he starts, but Gintoki cuts him off with a sucking bite to the neck and a rough thrust, making the correction trail off into a quiet, sweet gasp.

A dirty-sounding _pop_ follows, echoing against the tiles when he lifts his mouth from Zura’s abused throat. The taller man takes a moment to admire his handiwork. He drifts a finger over the skin, pressing lightly, making Zura hiss. “Maybe this is how I did it,” he comments, striving for nonchalant, but he unabashedly loves the way Zura looks with _his_ marks bruising that fair neck (and Gintoki’s voice is huskier than he’d like it to be).

“That better be low enough to hide,” Zura breathes (it isn’t – who knows what kind of loose, desperate women attend Zura’s courses, after all; he’s just looking after Zura’s best interests).

He chooses not to answer that directly in the interest of furthering current events, mumbling distractedly, “Do you ever stop complaining?” and licking after a trail of moisture on Zura’s jaw line. It’s a short work to worm his hand between their bodies, fingers wrapping around both of their erections. Zura makes another soft, pleasing sound (not a complaint at all, thinks Gintoki smugly). Heat builds higher in his stomach as he strokes them together, slow and full (alternating between light and heavy touches, just barely nudging the heads with a country-calloused thumb, _fuck_ it’s a goddamned self-inflicted madness). He feels Zura’s damp eyelashes tickling his cheek as they flutter closed, and nudges the other man’s head up, giving him a deep kiss, breaking it only to mutter roughly, “Well, I think I know how I did it, now.”

“Was it by b-being quiet,” tries Zura, pressing his forehead stubbornly against Gintoki’s – one of those inexplicable Zura-things, like the way he cracks his toes at night, or how his touch turns anything in lab classes into a bomb, or the dumb little _buuu_ sound he makes when he blows on hot tea, or – or a million other stupid things Gintoki’s been studiously not-noticing since they were thirteen.

With their heads leaning together like that, Gintoki supposes he can almost hear buzzing little Zura thoughts (and suddenly, he knows he has no more patience for teasing, his hand stuttering to a stop between them).

“Hey,” he murmurs, “Open your eyes.” He can pretend to be as smooth as he wants, but in the end it always comes down to those _ridiculous_ deer-brown eyes, the ones that look up at him now. “I want to fuck you,” the taller man blurts, earnest and rough and clumsy. “Can I warp your innocence some more?”

He expects the colour to smudge across Zura’s cheeks, and the narrowed eyebrows, and the exhaled embarrassed noise. He does not, however, expect for Zura to reply in a voice like brush-stroked desire, “It’s not really warping if I want it.”

While Gintoki gapes, the smaller man adds an emphatic, “Stupid paa,” which is probably the only thing that keeps Gintoki from calling bullshit on reality.

After a too-long moment of recovery, he pushes Zura back against the tile, covering the other’s mouth in a searing kiss. Zura kisses back with a maddening slowness and nibbling, delicate teeth (probably knowing exactly how _crazy_ it’s driving Gintoki and being a huge asshole as usual). The slick heat of the shorter man’s tongue sliding against his decides it; the shower just isn’t going to cut it anymore. He needs a _bed_ to fuck Zura into, needs to hear the creak of Zura’s mattress, needs to see his shitty hair spread out over the sheets.

When he abruptly shuts off the shower, the wighead startles, “Ah, wait, I need to wash – ”

“You’re gonna have to take another shower anyway,” Gintoki replies shortly, grabbing his wrist and leading him out of the bath.

Zura twists long, damp strands over his shoulder as it hits the bed, Gintoki climbing after and over him. The white-haired man immediately drops his head to kiss a lazy trail across Zura’s chest. “I’m going to fail this class,” the other man mutters above him, sullen but resigned.

“Get that idiot to tutor you,” Gintoki dismisses, fingers sliding down his abdomen, tracing around his bellybutton. Zura wiggles away from the hand with a strangled-sounding chuckle, so Gintoki’s tongue finds a nipple to lave at, and the squirming becomes that of a different nature.

“He’s a shitty tutor,” Zura protests distractedly. “What kind of tutoring can anyone expect from an idiot?”

Gintoki really, really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about Sakamoto right now. His eyes flicker up, deadpan. “Lessons in idiocy. Luckily, you don’t need any more of those.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ll throw you out the window.”

“Shut up.” Clearly, leaving Zura’s mouth unattended can only spell disaster, so he leans up from the other’s chest, sealing their lips together. After a long few minutes of kindling desire he eases off, reaching to the bedside table. He can’t seem to check himself before he asks incredulously, “Where are the tissues?”

“I moved them.”

“Why would you _move_ them?”

“They looked dirty next to the bed!”

“Of course they did, they’re there for a dirty reason.” Gintoki’s hand drops low, palm pressing and teasing, and Zura chokes. “Although, I do like how you look covered in my – ”

“ _ **Gintoki!**_ ”

“I was going to say kisses. However, your enthusiasm for shouting my name gets four and a half stars. Please work harder, make it a little less bloodthirsty, and we’ll really be getting somewhere.” Gintoki realizes, somewhere in the back of his brain that still has a little bit of blood to work with, that teasing Zura very rarely leads to getting laid, and that he should really stop it right now.

_Should_ stop it, of course, but probably won’t. It just wouldn’t be as _fun_ otherwise.

Fun is definitely something he tries to keep in mind, especially with a bed partner like Zura. The smaller man seems determined to attempt to ruin every amorous encounter they’ve ever had, flipping back and forth from hesitant, sexy-but-inconvenient embarrassment to annoying, hard-on crushing bluntness. Gintoki is very thoughtfully peppering a few sucking kisses to the curve of other man’s shoulder when Zura prompts, like he’s asking what time the train is arriving, “…Well?”

“Mm,” hums Gintoki dully, “sorry, are you complaining about my catering to your uncontained lust?”

“I don’t have time for uncontained lust. Contain it. I have Calculus in,” he turns his head, “ _less_ than fourty-five minutes.”

“Are you still going on about that? Now? Really?”

“Do you want me to lose my scholarship?”

“Not to worry.” Gintoki presses his hips forward with a leer, lifting one of the other man’s legs by the ankle. “I can give you a _full ride_ – ”

“A-ah, knock it off! I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I can’t believe you’re still talking. Hup, here we go,” he adds cheerfully, lifting Zura’s other leg into the air. The smaller man turns an interesting shade of red, trying to wiggle into a less exposed position. Gintoki drops one of his ankles, wedging the legs open with his torso, and fumbles one-handedly with what he snagged out of the bedside table earlier.

After a few fruitless, frustrating moments, he tosses the tube onto Zura’s chest. “Oi. Assist.”

“I should shoot it in your eyes,” mumbles Zura, although he finally ( _finally!_ ) starts making himself useful.

Gintoki holds his hand out smugly, and it’s only after the cool gel is on his fingers that he responds, “Now, now. I thought you wanted to skip the foreplay?” Zura huffs, obviously about to snap an insult, so Gintoki drops his hand immediately to give the other a few slick, heavy strokes. Zura chokes, arching up off the bed like a god damn triple-X hentai character, and Gintoki shifts, feeling the very few last drops of blood leave his brain.

It’s the only explanation he can give for drawling, “Last chance to go to class, Zura. What’s it gonna be?”

“Are you _serious?_ Stop messing around!”

“What, now you want it?” He slides his hand down and back, stroking two fingers teasingly across the tight, hidden muscle. “Make up your mind already.”

“C-cut it out.”

“You want me to stop?” He presses his fingers hard against the resistance, slipping them all the way inside, only to begin to pull them out again.

“ _A-aa,_ you stupid… asshole!” Zura reaches down, grabbing his wrist and scowling. “Keep g-going.”

The white-haired man grins, obligingly rocking his fingers in slowly, pressing and stretching. “See, I’d know these things if you just told me, Zura.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s – _nn_ – Katsura.” Gintoki slides his fingers in deeper, letting his grin spread even more as Zura’s hips jump and twitch. “ _Uhn._ ”

“I think you like this better than Calculus,” Gintoki decides. He begins thrusting his fingers rhythmically and Zura groans quietly, his legs shuddering and falling wider. When Zura’s grip around the taller man’s wrist loosens, Gintoki smirks. Picking it up, he guides the hand to the other man’s length. “Calculus doesn’t make you want to do this, aa? Touch yourself, that is.”

“D-don’t…” gasps Zura, embarrassed and trying to move his hand away. “I don’t…”

“Sure you do. I can feel how hot you’re getting – I can see it, too. Ah, but I know, you can’t get off unless it’s me gettin’ you off, right? I’ll get you started.” It takes some truly advanced motor skills, and his rhythm is odd and uneven at first. Still, he’s soon pushing Zura’s hand up and down his length, at the same time as his other hand presses his fingers deeper inside.

When he adds the third finger, Zura bites back a huff. It’s a familiar sound, and it isn’t one Gintoki particularly likes. “…Oi, does it hurt?”

“Nn…” It’s a grunt to the negative, but the stupid bastard rarely admits it. The taller man notices Zura’s hand is working on its own, now, stroking heavily. That’s one way to get past it, he supposes, and it’s one he heartily approves of. He watches every damn moment of it, matching the rhythm of his fingers to those slow, full strokes.

When he finally tears his eyes away from the movements of Zura’s hand, from his fingers disappearing in and out of the other’s body, he finds Zura’s gaze trained intensely on him, sweat at his temples and hair mussed. He almost chokes. “Ready?” he coughs, to divert attention away from the pink that’s suddenly sprung to his cheeks.

“A-ah,” Zura sighs, somewhat shakily, sitting up and shifting away. Gintoki doesn’t have time to ask just where the _hell_ that wighead thinks he’s going before it’s made abundantly clear; the smaller man has turned over on his hands and knees.

Gintoki gawks long enough for Zura to cast an extremely red glance over his shoulder, partially obscured by thick hair. “Hurry it up,” he snaps, knees shifting in obvious self-consciousness. There are not enough tissues in the world, thinks Gintoki, as he fumbles for the stupid tube again (if he slicks himself a bit too thoroughly, he can hardly be blamed, not with Zura’s lower back twitching like that in front of him).

He grabs onto the other’s thigh as he guides himself into that tight ring of muscle, a hundred nerves sparking as he presses forward. “Oh, shit, oh fuck,” he breathes, watching Zura’s shoulders tense beneath him. Craning at an awkward angle, Gintoki peppers those pale expanses with kisses that are closer to pants, seating himself fully. “Fuck, _aah,_ hey,” he exhales, as he feels Zura tense around him, “ _Shit_ … you’re so tight it almost hurts, r-relax…”

“Hnm, hnm,” whimpers Zura, hands fisting in the sheets. After a few shallow thrusts, however, the fists unclench, and Gintoki feels himself _sink._ He then feels Zura rocking back into him, pushing him deeper.

“Oh fucking shit,” he blurts dazedly, voice an octave too high. “Y-yeah, just like that. Zura...”

“Kah, Katsura,” gasps the other man, with some effort. “It’s Katsura. C-can’t you, get it… nnuh, get it right, even when we’re being… _intimate?_ ”

“Intimate? _Intimate?_ I don’t, haa, want to be intimate with you right now. I want to fuck you until you don’t give a damn about stupid Geometry.”

“Calculus,” Zura corrects automatically. The hair hanging in front of him suddenly whips back. “Oh, damnit, _Calculus_ – !”

Gintoki shoves the dumb wig straight down into the pillow, giving a harder thrust. The wig-pillow gives a muffled yelp in response, though a shudder runs down along Zura’s spine, and his shoulders give out entirely. Found it, thinks Gintoki happily, and repeats the motion in unforgiving succession.

Over Zura’s choked moans, he comments a bit breathlessly, “What were you… talkin’ about?”

“Whah?” responds the smaller man muzzily, a hazy eye casting up. “Nnm, _haaa,_ Gintoki.”

With no little satisfaction, he watches the tangled, messy strands of Zura’s hair get crushed against the pillow with another thrust. “Nothin’,” he responds succinctly. “Feels good now, huh?”

“If you don’t, shut up,” starts Zura, but Gintoki knows this means _yes, Gin-sama, fuck me harder_ in Zuraese, so of course – being the conscientious kind of guy he is – he complies. As engaging as it is teasing Zura, there’s no way to concentrate on teasing anymore, not with how fucking _good_ that tight heat feels clenching around him, drawing him in, and not with those goddamn sounds, soft and loud, pouring from Zura’s mouth.

In a perfect world, he would do nothing but this all day every day (with _this_ , of course, being Zura). No, correction – in a perfect world, he would do nothing but Zura, and parfaits, and sometimes Zura _and_ parfaits all at the same time.

He leans down to lick saltysweet sweat from the other’s nape, deciding then and there to coat it with chocolate syrup, next time. Or maybe whipped cream. Shit, speaking of – “Gonna, come?”

“Mnn, hngh,” responds Zura tightly, shuddering.

“Haa…” Fuck, he’s getting close. “Naa, Zura. Why don’t you... beg for me to come inside you?”

“ _G-Gintoki!_ ” The smaller man’s breath is coming in high, shallow pants, now, the reprimand barely standing. Some people like to listen to the rain on window sills, some people like to listen to jazz. Gintoki prefers listening to those gasping breaths more than anything in the whole damn world, sharp and needy and all _his._

His thrusting grows in intensity, loses some of its rhythm. “C’mon, it was so cute last time,” he grits lowly, “the way you squirmed on my cock and pleaded for it.”

Zura suddenly lets out a rough groan, which has Gintoki noticing Zura’s elbow moving underneath him. Frankly, he doesn’t know whether to be pleased or clench his teeth. He ends up doing both; he’s close enough as it is, damnit, he doesn’t need to know Zura’s masturbating – quite enthusiastically – on top of it.

Of course, he doesn’t need what follows, either, but he can’t really shirk the blame on that one. “Come inside,” trembles Zura, so quietly it’s almost swallowed by the creaking of the bed.

“Wh-what?” Gintoki gasps in response, stupidly.

Thank god, as usual, for misinterpretations. Zura corrects in a whisper, face hidden in that spill of black hair, “… _Please_ come inside. Gintoki, please.”

“ _Zura,_ ” is all he manages, and he barely lasts another thirty seconds. He presses down hard on Zura as he comes, mouth latching onto that damn perfect neck to try and muffle the moan. The tight heat around him spasms as Zura follows suit a few moments after, with an overwhelmed keen and a forceful shiver all down Gintoki’s front.

It’s a long few gasping moments before he’s able to get control of his tongue again, and all Gintoki manages to say to the sweaty skin beneath him is a breathless, “Oh _shit,_ ” before letting his whole body slide forward. Zura _oomphs_ , and then whimpers tiredly, hips writhing in oversensitivity. One red eye opens at that whine, and Gintoki levers himself up just long enough to pull out and let Zura turn back over. Then, he collapses right back on top of him.

At length, Zura mumbles, “You’re squashing me,” but soft fingers are at his hair, pushing damp curls off hot skin.

It feels damn nice, and Gintoki certainly doesn’t want to do anything that might discourage it, like moving. “S’alright,” he slurs back. “M’flattenin’ your freshman fifteen. You’re welcome.”

“Shut up. I’m not a freshman, and I never gained any weight, except for just now, when you collapsed on me like an old man having a heart attack.”

Gintoki is about to retort when he feels the other’s leg twinge, and he can’t help but smirk as he rolls off, snagging himself a pliant armful of wighead. He drops a hand low, sliding it neatly into the small of Zura’s back, fingers idly brushing his ass. “Mm, what’s this? Sore now?”

“…No.”

“Liar. Aren’t you supposed to open up after mind-blowing sex? Share all your deepest desires and thoughts and feelings?”

Zura huffs, burying a reddening face into his neck. “Aren’t you supposed to roll over and go to sleep afterwards, like a normal man?”

“Aa, but a normal man could not have done what I just did.”

A shy smile curves against his throat. “…Maybe not.”

“ _Maybe_ not? Oi, oi, have some faith in me, would you?” He knows he’s been thoroughly ruined, then (he can hear the smile in his own damn voice).

“I have faith that you won’t stop being so noisy.” Zura’s voice, on the other hand, is getting sluggish; it’s cute, how quickly Zura is to drop off after sex, like all that stern focus he normally exhibits has been drained out of him.

Gintoki ducks his head, pressing a kiss to a messy clutch of bangs. “Now, now. I think I just got finished proving who the noisy one is, here. If you need another demonstration, give me twenty minutes and a sandwich, and we’ll – ”

Zura groans, tilting his head up and catching the other’s lips. The kiss is uncoordinated, warm and spreading, like someone spooning out a hefty dollop of sweet sauce. “Shhh,” Zura urges, his hand tangling in Gintoki’s hair again, stroking and affectionate. “Shhh.”

Eyes lidding in comfort, Gintoki grunts, and finally ( _finally_ ) shuts up.

“…So, how sore are we talking, here? Is round three totally out of the question, or…”

“ _Damnit,_ Gintoki – ”

For a few minutes, anyway.  



End file.
